I went to the Giants' last home game on Wednesday night; it was also Barry Bonds' last game ever for the Giants at home. I don't particularly like Barry Bonds; in fact, I pretty well hold him in great disdain, for a host of reasons that I won't even begin to go into.
But, I had nothing better to do, I needed the exercise of walking up to the Muni station, and I felt as though I would be watching a little bit of baseball history. So, off I went, battling the crowds, the complete lack of tickets, and I found myself standing behind the right-field bleachers watching the game. In the course of nine innings, I observed the game from three different distinct places, and I have to say that I am wishing I had spent the whole game at the back of those bleachers. That's where the real fans are - people who will sit anywhere just to watch baseball. And, since I didn't have a bleacher ticket, I was standing behind them and suddenly had a flash of memory back to the days when Roy would go to a ball game and ALWAYS stand behind the bleachers. He always had a ticket, but he just couldn't navigate those steps, so it was easier for him to stand up than to risk tumbling down an endless slope of cement stairs.
Baseball is like life, in a lot of ways. You are always competing, but hopefully against people who are similar to you and who, outside the arena, would sit and have a beer with you and be happy. No matter how bad things seem, there's always a chance, up to the very end, to get it right. And you might have a bad day, and make some pretty gross errors, but there will be other days, other games, and you get another stab to prove yourself.
And so, amid the beer, the fights, the people slapping complete strangers on the back and celebrating every hit (or consoling them when it was obvious that the game was not going their way), I had a minor epiphany of sorts. It's always worth staying in the game until the last inning, and there will always be something to draw people together and prove to them that they are not alone (and it doesn't have to be a disaster or a war). Play ball!
--Dedicated to the memory of Roy Webb 5/18/1956 - 2/2/2004
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J Bo -
Roy would be one happy guy today, as his beloved Phils completed the improbable run to the playoffs. It's tremendous fun watching Eamon revel in the thrill - first time in his life they're in the postsseason - but your posting is right on that it's more about the fans and the social centric, than about the game itself per se. I still desperately want my teams (Phils and the Tribe) to win, but it's not for my own sake anymore. It's for the diehards who have died a thousand times with their teams. I want my aunt and my sister to see the Indians win it. Just once. That's all we want.
Yesterday I called up our next door neighbors from Philadelphia, Cathy and Bill, to share in the celebration. They are in their 80s and the first thing Bill ever said to me was, "Hey! The Phils won a close one today."
And when I called, Cathy told me that Bill died last month. But after 63 years with him, she's still watching the games faithfully, probably on his behalf as much as her own.
That's why I care about baseball. For Bill and Roy and all the people with whom we've shared the journey. Long live baseball.
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